Ryder padded down the empty midway at dawn, his metal paws clicking on cracked pavement. He stopped at the foot of the old coaster and stared up at its tired drop. The track leveled off too soon, like always. He hated it. Somewhere in this park, he was going to learn how to build the drop that didn't flinch — a curve that pushed past straight down and made riders look back up at the rails above them. He just needed the right piece of paper, the right scrap of math, the right ghost of an engineer to show him how. He turned to leave and stopped. A battered leather suitcase sat under the loading platform, stickers peeling, clasps red with rust. It had not been there yesterday. Ryder flicked the clasps open. Inside lay folded blueprints, lines crisp and certain, showing a drop that curled past vertical and hung riders beneath the track. His paw trembled on the paper. Someone had drawn his coaster. And he had no idea who.